Sweet Talk 101
by Kirrae
Summary: Expansion of the first two CCD books. MxV fluff, RxOC, All seems well in Relmana after Flauvic's being turned into a tree, but with the return of the Master of Assassins, trouble soon arises along with old enemies.
1. Chapter 1

Name: Sweet Talk 101

Author: Kirrae

Rating: Teen

Pairing: RxOC, MxV, BxN

Summary: A certain assassin's return to court causes a few ripples in the relatively new peace of Remalna's politics.

Disclaimer: I own only the words and any original characters that appear in this work. The characters, settings, and main plot derive from the work of Sherwood Smith. The song lyrics in this chapter belong to Cute is What We Aim For and All That Remains.

Chapter Note: I have decided to take this up again. Not sure how it'll turn out, as I've scrapped most of the original story. I hope it continues to your liking. Let me know of any suggestions you might have. Thank you kindly.

* * *

Chapter 1- Sweet Talk 101, The Air that I Breathe

_You have a jump in your step_

_But a rip in your_

_A rip in your rep_

He gazed at the girl in front of him, she was pretty, he'd give her that. He had an eye for such things, or so it was said, but she could never compare. Not even in the eye of the insane could she compare to her. Tamara stood in front of him, frilly dress, hair done up in an intricate fashion, intended to show off her 'natural beauty.' He couldn't help but laugh inwardly at this; she tried so hard to be what she was not. She could never replace _her_ in his heart, mind, or eye.

It was just the other day that he had been thinking, much as he enjoyed their games, he could never rightly marry a woman who would view his titles, his land, and indeed himself as a consolation prize. She did not know she'd lost the crown as of yet. The Duke of Savona did not really want to think what her reaction would be. Afterall, she'd lost the crown to the barefoot Countess. Not that it was much of a surprise to any who'd observed the two together. They had a certain air about them. Something many would envy, despite the couple's ignorance of its existence.

Ah, on to other, less painful topics. Beauty, he thought, was not something that was common, and found 'classical beauty' to be a lie girls were led to believe in, just for that hope that they could really be special. True, you tend to find the one you love most beautiful, but he had been, among other things, a philanderer for so long that this theory seemed to mean nothing when applied to him. Beauty was strange, flawed, but still perfect. It was the utmost representation of the human soul, perfected in its flaws.

She had been his undoing, the one angel for which he truly fell. She was not just rough around the edges, as some would call her; she was not soft at all. She had been, and always would be, his strength. The only thing that had ever marred his formerly perfect reputation at being a complete and utter flirtatious fop of Duke. Of course, with the thought of her came the songs, specifically the annoying one now flitting around his thoughts. She'd sung it at him once, in jest, and he was somewhat shamed to find he could recall every note.

_And everybody knows it_

_So be sure to be proud_

_But don't forget, you aren't allowed to brag_

They all knew that he had fallen for her, for her charm, her beauty, her strength, and her cold demeanor. She had been forcefully distanced from the rest of the courtiers at a young age, having been disowned from those whom she had called family, and never again would trust any as such. Some had pitied him when she had been forced to leave, but Russav was never one for such emotion, he just simply scoffed at the thought of being upset, in _anguish_, over her departure and had stalked off, taking up his role as a fop once again. He refused to let that bastard of a tyrant win.

While it had been months, almost a year now, since the death of Galdran Merindar, a new king had yet to be crowned. Thought that wouldn't last. By the New Year a new throne would be commissioned and a rather handsome couple would take their place. However, little could be done with the military, and so she remained at the borderlands. And he remained ever the flirt, which had its advantages.

He never could get over the thought of her, no matter how hard he tried. It seemed as if he had fallen into a cavern too deep for him to ever hope of getting out, and Russav wasn't so sure he wanted out. If being perpetually suspended in that dark abyss gave him the ability to still think her alive, safe, and thinking of him, he would remain till the rest of his days had been lived out in solitude. As long as no news of her death was delivered to his door, Russav would never marry.

Even if she were safe, he could not think of her as anything but what she was. A military woman all too fond of her independence. Marriage and children were not for her. Which suited him just fine.

_With that façade you can do no wrong_

_Many will enter but few will win_

_So please be sure to read the fine print_

He remembered so clearly the day she had said that to him, "Ah, but Russav, many will enter, and few will win, so please, please be sure to read the fine print." That had been the day she had found him being surrounded by countless girls, all aiming for a slight softness of grace, a casual touch, or any sign of recognition from him. He had said something particularly foolish about having too many fans for his heart to accept them all. Her advice was wise, yes, but as cryptic as ever to his mind at the time. It had taken him so long to realize exactly what she had meant and why it was said with such deep melancholy burning in her fathomless eyes.

_I spend more time in front of mirrors than any _

_Gent should_

_Because lets face it_

_One on one is more fun any way_

_And everybody knows it_

_But I'm not so proud_

_And I'll never be the one to brag_

A true dolt he was, spending countless hours organizing what exactly he should wear to emphasize a certain point. She'd have laughed at him for such anxiety and over-reading. Foolishness, she'd say with a slight pout, and here I thought you'd never fall for such things, Russav. Oh how he missed that whip-like wit with a sharp tongue to match, how he longed to hold that slight form in his arms again… It truly was more fun to just be alone with her, than amid thousands of _them_.

A woman of many faces, facets, and purposes, was she. It was easy to tell which one was dealing with based upon her speech pattern, walk, and even the shade of her eyes. They would all change with her mood, but most specifically what she was at the time. He had met a few of her 'personas' and had quite few negative run-ins with them. She really couldn't go wrong in any situation, for there was always one handy for every possible scene in which she could find herself. Such a talented actress, some would say, but he knew better.

He would always say that one could tell her mood clearly by the set of her brow. Were she angry, they would be furrowed and set in a grimly straight line, upset and they would quiver slightly, cold and distant, as was her norm, could be told by the unmoving, pristine quality of those artfully-shaped brows. When dancing with her, he could not help but joke, just so he could hear that laugh, that musical laugh that seemed to fill the air with such avid amusement.

The truth of the matter was, he would never be over her, didn't want to, and could never imagine being without those waves of shivers that coursed through his body every time he thought of that soft, waved hair and those unnaturally colored eyes. How strange they were, how strangely pretty their hue.

He lamentably hid behind a front, much like a certain cousin of his. Indeed, he was not interested in any of the women he spoke to, they all would try and gain his rapt attention, and all would fail. Even when absent for years, she could still pull his mind to her, latching onto his consciousness with the ferocity of a wildcat. As much of a court decoration as he was, (oh, how he loved that particular phrase of his cousin's dear Countess) he was even more so when his thoughts turned to the past. At least Danric didn't need him during Petitioner's Court.

The Duke of Savona was brought out of his recollections of soft skin, dark hair, and violet-red eyes by the abrupt slam of the heavy throne room doors. He, along with the rest of the court, swung his eyes to the figure hunched and bleeding in the doorway. The hiss of her name from his lips was drowned by the collective gasp of those around him. Tamara at his side clung to his arm, her fan fluttering. Beside her Lady Trishe rose to her feet.

There she stood, in the middle of the door, a hand clasped to her side, chest heaving, and shorn hair matted with blood. There was a small trail of blood leading in from the hall to a puddle at her feet. She swayed where she stood, almost delirious from bloodloss, and yet Russav had never found her more beautiful. Doubtless she had three or more holes drilled through her skin.

"I am terribly sorry Master Travail. Please, continue. The blacksmiths will always have my support."

The poor petitioner stuttered and continued with his account. Obviously, the site of an armored, armed, and bloody woman standing in the midst of the throne room came as a surprise to the guild smith. Not to mention the large Captain's insignia stitched into the sleeve of her leather armor.

"We are simply afraid of possible negative outcomes. Their rates aren't held to standard and they'll likely put us out of business. I've taken this to the judges, but they have done nothing. The establishment is technically not a smithy, thus they-"

"Don't have to play by your rules." Vidanric apparently decided to save the poor, flustered smith. "We will look into the matter the moment we have the chance. Keeping local business running is one of our top priorities."

Her voice cut across the room, solid as ever, even as she staggered foreword.

"Ever the people-pleaser, hmm? I'm afraid I have some bad news."

Her leg refused to move, even as her body continued ahead. She was half to the ground when Russav had managed to vault over the stools in front of him and pull her back to her feet.

"Thank you, Savona. But since when was there a tree on the throne? I didn't know we had a new king. Such a pretty flower he was, and now such a beautiful tree."

She grinned, slightly unhinged. Just slightly.

"I'm so sorry for interrupting, but, well, my riding's dead. Denliffi mercenaries in Merindar colors. Managed to get half of them on the border, another third down on my way here. I'm about a day ahead. Check near the Saints Rest outside Orbanith. That's where I lost them. They're headed here. I'd have done more, but I'm afraid I'm a few weapons down and have four holes in me. This is my last act as a sane woman it appears."

Russav held her tightly to him and nodded at his cousin. He'd take her to the healers.

"I believe, cousin, that you have some work to attend to. For now, I'll take our dear Captain to a healer."

As one, they bowed elaborately to the seated Royal family and turned for the door.

"I am truly sorry for bloodying the floor, and you, my Duke. My apologies."

"Healer." Oh, Danric would make such a good little King, wouldn't he?

"Yes, milord."

She really couldn't shut up, could she? Then again, what fun would it be otherwise. She was chattering about some bizarre combat she had come across in her travels. Giving him full descriptions of techniques and her opinions on the methods uses. It wasn't until they'd managed to get halfway to the Service Wing that she turned to him.

"You really are a sight for sore eyes Sav. I have missed you these past few years."

"Are you capable of being anything but droll, madame? It seems you're stuck in that mode."

"Russ, if you really want to know, I've got a hole through each of my shoulders, my stomach, and my right thigh. I haven't slept in days, have a dreadful headache and I just watched fifteen of Remalna's best get slaughtered in front of me."

"They got you over the head didn't they?"

"Unfortunately."

It was an old weakpoint of hers. Being so short and refusing to wear a helm, she was occasionally prone to getting slammed in the skull with a hilt. The blow would knock her down and leave her with a nasty migraine, occasionally it would knock her out. Most of the time she was winded and battered enough that struggling to move did more damage than lying there in her own blood.

"You really should take to wearing some headgear. I imagine you could find a smart hat or two for the occasion. Preferably in heavy leather."

He was far too delighted by the laugh that spilled from her shaking form in his arms. Half-dead and she still held him in her grasp.

"Russav."

He settled for curling a hand through her now shoulder-length locks. He was a bit upset by the change in length. He had loved the long waving tresses, but ultimately the shorter look was a bit more functional. It fit her in a way the lengthy locks hadn't. As did the sun-colored highlights from long campaigns in the south. The shorn hair still managed to retain some semblance of its former beauty by flipping and curling at the ends.

"Yes?"

"Thank you," and she proceeded to fall limp in his arms. He could only grin at her, brush bloody bangs from her brow, and lift her up into his arms. He'd imagined carrying her like this often, however those dreams did not include her being battered and unconscious. It seemed as if he'd have to make due with what he could.

"Well my lady, it seems I have finally found myself in a position to talk to you without interruption. As it stands you are apparently my wife after we got married in the midst of a naval dogfight. Or so it would seem. My apologies. I had always hoped you'd find a better husband."

"I'm not unconscious, Savvy darling. Just unable to walk."

"I should fix that before I continue then, shouldn't I?"

"Preferably not. I'd like to hear all of your sappy endearments. They're rather good to hear after all of the campaigning. No flowery language for the soldierly types you know."

"Indeed my lady. To the Captain's Quarters then?"

"Does this make you my cabin boy?"

"So it would seem."

"You know, I really want to meet Danric's Countess. I've heard so much about her."

"Now, I'm not entirely surprised, but how _do_ you know?"

"Anyone who can read Danric can tell, and I have heard stories."

"Ah. Stories my lady?" Doubtless, she'd had them all tailed. Tailed and told on, by their own servants, no less. She had a dreadful habit of that.

She settled for bringing her arms up about his neck and pulling his head down to her own. Rather than answer with only words, she let her lips graze his brow as she whispered "indeed."

By the time Russav managed to carry his rather amorous assassin to the healer's station in the service wing, he was quite sure that she had sustained some rather severe head trauma. Either that, or she truly had missed him. He was unsure which he preferred to believe. While her eyes were clear, her actions were somewhat uncharacteristic. Amidst all of this musing he was shocked to find himself singing that awful tune that had been racketing through his brain all morning. Her response was merely to laugh and inform him that she was quite often wrong, but the flattery was both noted and appreciated.

Mistress Kylar, healer on duty, was quick to inform the girl that she ought to stay in bed, resting, and to change her bandages as often as necessary, but at least once daily. She just smiled and nodded as she let the healer redress her wounds. Russav found himself waiting outside a tapestry, hanging on every rustle of fabric that sounded from the other room. When he was readmitted, he found her sitting up on the cot, flicking a blade between her fingers. On the bright side, she looked better, however she still looked like the casualty of one of Tamara's infamous rages. He should know. He'd worn that look many a time in the past three years.

"Reminiscing Sav? That's new."

"There's a lot new. Three years, Arya."

"Russav."

"What? It's your name isn't it?"

"You know as well as I that it is a cover name."

The duke shook his head. Honestly, that girl had a mouth on her. Quite a vicious one, at that. Well, not currently, she was being quite tame. He'd simply write it off as her being both exhausted and perforated at the moment.

"As if I were informed of what else to call you. Would you prefer Ara? It's close enough that I can manage, should my lady request."

"An it please milord, he may call his servants what he will."

"But such a beautiful servant needs a name as radiant as her resplendence."

"Ara is fine. Or Mirçé."

"Ah, so that is your true name."

"Perhaps."

Never a straight answer with this one.

"Very well then, Mirçé. I shall watch over you to ensure your safety. Unless you'd like to try and find your old chambers. I'm sure Danric saved your possessions somewhere."

"I am a mortal man, Russav, but I'm not fallen, I'm not broken yet."

"Arya?"

She positively huffed at the familiar name. Oh, wasn't this cute, it was practically a pet name of its own. She just mumbled a few words under her breath, sounding vaguely Sartorian, and moved to stand. They would have none of that.

"Lie back down."

"Savona, I am perfectly capable of movement."

"Really now? And here I thought you were split at the seams."

"Magic, my dear friend, a potential for which we all have some ability. Most don't notice for our small quantity is hardly formidable. Others are certainly more apt. However certain events might make some of us able to tap into that property and learn a skill or two. I've been cut up so often that I have a talent for healing myself. Picked this one up from a mark a year and a half ago."

This made the ever-unflappable Russav raise a brow, eyes clouded in mirth.

"Really?"

"Would you like to test my hypothesis?"

"And let you stab me a few hundred times? Hardly. But really, how does it work?"

Much to his surprise, all it took was an incantation, some knowledge of how the spell would work, and a bit of energy. Not all that complicated. Finding the energy and channeling it was the difficulty. Some strange meditation thing that he'd never really been too fond of. Too much like soul searching.

When Vidanric strolled in at the next time-change, he found his cousin sitting in bed, leaned against the wall, and cradling a weary woman in his arms. He had managed to convince Mel to accompany him, but he had regretfully forgotten to mention exactly why he had wanted her in attendance. This was easy to see for one so skilled at watching, as Russav found himself doing nothing else most days. The Countess would have been skittish and blushing had she known why her Marquis wanted her to visit a wounded soldier.

"My dear Countess, does my cousin inform you of anything?"

"He occasionally leaves out details, for which he will be repentant. You know this as well as I Sav. Such it has been, such it will be." Why did she refuse to rest? Oh yes, she was obsessive, controlling, and of the opinion that sleep was only for the weak-willed

and foolish.

"Mel, I do apologize for not saying this sooner, but the woman my cousin is _supporting_ is none other than our esteemed Master of Assassins. An old friend. In fact, she is posing as a cousin of mine. I thought you two might benefit from one another's company."

The countess could only bow, positively red from jaw to brow. Arya/Ara/Mirçé stood, returned the bow, and clasped Danric's shoulder with a glove.

"It is good to see you, cousin. If you don't mind my still calling you as such. Appearances and all. And I must congratulate you both. I know that you'd like to keep things discreet until after the wedding of Count Branaric and Lady Nimiar, so I'll not say much else of that."

"Tactful as ever, I see." Danric wearily sunk into a chair at the corner of the room, rubbing his hand along his brow. Mel moved to stand by his chair, apparently unconscious of her movements.

"She's changed rather little. Just picked up a few new names and tricks along the way." Why in all hell could he not shut his mouth when he ought to?

"You expected otherwise? Three years is hardly much against a life. I am rather set in my ways, in any matter. Lady Meliara, may I complement you on your successes. What most won't tell you is that your heroism relies in the aid you accept from others. Not many can do so. And modesty will get you nowhere. You've managed to steal my cousin's heart, that is the mark of a true heroine, heroic acts or not. It's more a miracle than anything."

"I do apologize, but what may I call you? I never received your name." Oh, Mel. What would Danric do without you? He'd be as stuffy, calculating, and cold as ever. Life! She could make that man smile.

"That is because Lord Danric Fancytitles never told you a thing. Arya at your service. If we are to be continuing the tradition, as least."

"Pardon?"

"Arya is my cover name. Simply put, Arya Renselaeus does not exist except for the pretense of keeping me at Court. Best to have an assassin protecting you from assassins, hmm? My birth name is of little consequence."

"So it is Mirçé!" It was a regrettable weakness of his. One he often fell victim to. He should likely stitch his mouth shut.

"Indeed."

"I knew it."

"The likelihood of that is doubtful."

To prevent the continuing of a pointless argument, Vidanric felt it necessary to make himself useful. Thus he cleared his throat rather pointedly and gestured toward the door with a graceful arm.

"Your old quarters are open, Arya. We are glad to have you with us again. I was much displeased when I found I could do nothing to recall you."

"No need. I am here now, and that is what counts, don't you think cousin?"

Mel was a bit lost, of course, but to fill her in would mean loosing half the fun.

"If you don't mind my asking, why exactly were you called away, and to where? Forgive me for being so forward, I am just a bit lost."

"Aren't we all."

"Pardon?"

_I will not relent, no, no_

_Never live with defeat, never falter_

_It's like the air that I breate_

_I will not choke on failure_

"I was an assassin sworn to protect the Renselaeus family. The easiest way to do so was to pose as a distant relative that they had taken in due to a family tragedy. Gave me a similar start as most at Court. Galdran not being very fond of parents. I remained here for many years, from the end of my training until three years ago, when Galdran found me practicing with a few of my subordinates. He realized I could use a blade rather skillfully and had me sent away. Leading a campaign along the border. The entire border. You know the rest."

"My apologies."

"None necessary."

_I am a mortal man_

_But I'm not fallen, I'm not broken yet_

_I am a mortal man_

_But I hold tight to my beliefs now_

Arya took Mel by the arm and walked with her, taking the garden path to the Royal Wing. Leaving the two cousins behind. Finally a chance to torment Danric, he had much to tell.

"When did you prepare that room?"

"The moment I got back after Galdran's death. You know that, Russav. You were with me."

"True enough. You've already sent out the ridings, I presume."

"Most certainly."

"There's more to this than a few mercenaries at the border."

"So I have been told." He did not even have to raise his brow. "Surely you must know the code. At least a wing under command with Merindar colors. We've got a rebellion on our hands."

"She'll want to be part of it."

"So I'm hoping."

_I have suffered defeat, pain, loss_

_Still I push to the edge, never falter_

_For this cements my beliefs_

_I will remain my own master_

Bran and Nee were the first to be introduced to Lady Arya. Russav's amusement was certainly plain on his face. His court mask depended on glee, yet true amusement was always a touch stronger than his baseline joy. Danric barely even kept his in place, letting it slip from his eyes and the corners of his mouth.

"Mel, where have you been? Have you- Oh, well, hello. Name's Bran, this is Nee. I'm Mel's brother."

"I had figured. You have the same hair color. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance milord, milady. Arya Renselaeus, at your service."

"Service?"

"Military woman, as you can see. I believe I can find my way from here, thank you lords, Lady Meliara." Ornate bow, twirling an imaginary cap between her fingers. That bow was more effective with some form of headpiece. She turned on her heel and walked off to her room. Likely to remove the bloody uniform. It could be a poor choice in clothing should she run into certain company.

"Danric, she's one of your many cousins?"

"Distant relative, yes. I probably should be going-"

"Danric, don't even try. You have no work to attend to at this very moment. So socialize."

"Russav you know very well that I have urgent business-"

"That isn't so urgent that you cannot take the time to relax with friends. What would Aunt Elestra think if I let you do this to yourself again? She'd have my head."

"And what would we do without your beauty to grace us, hmm?"

"Some would indeed mourn the loss, would they not Lady Meliara?"

Of course the cheerful air could not last. Never in Athanarel could one converse with friends without some form of subtle intrusion or war. The very worst was the interruptions. Too many people. Rather, too many people who had a tendency to get involved in the affairs of others.

"Think what, my Lords?"

Tamara. The conversation went down hill from there. Danric excused himself quickly. Mel said nothing. Bran ended the confrontation with his characteristic unthinking honesty. And Russav was no closer to ridding himself of the parasite that was the Lady Chamadis.


	2. Chapter 2

Name: Sweet Talk 101

Author: Kirrae

Rating: Teen

Pairing: RxOC, MxV, BxN

Summary: A certain assassin's return to court causes a few ripples in the relatively new peace of Remalna's politics.

Disclaimer: I own only the words and any original characters that appear in this work. The characters, settings, and main plot derive from the work of Sherwood Smith. The song lyrics belong to The Fray and Thrice.

Chapter Note: This one is in Danric's point of view. It gets a bit depressing at the end, I apologize, but it is unfortunately necessary. It is also a decent bit shorter than the first chapter, but I didn't want to put too much filler in. Let me know what you think.

* * *

Sweet Talk 101

Chapter 2 - Over My Head (Cable Car), Image of the Invisible

_I never knew_

_I never knew that everything was falling through_

_That everyone I knew was waiting on a cue_

_To turn and run when all I needed was the truth_

_But that's how it's got to be_

_It's coming down to nothing more than apathy_

_I'd rather run the other way than stay and see_

_The smoke and who's still standing when it clears_

Let it never be said that I have no patience. I politely stood there as Tamara started one of her trademark argument flirtations with Russav after seeing him completely enamored with another woman. I did not laugh or tell her that she was chasing fake crowns and false suitors. I watched as she humiliated Mel. A bit more politely than normal, after all, she was indebted to her. Then I politely excused myself and fled.

I, Vidanric Renselaeus, held my tongue as I did every time I saw that woman.

Now, don't go getting the impression that I dislike Lady Tamara. She isn't horrible, as court ladies go. However, she is a true court decoration, looking only to gain money, land, and prestige. Most of the time. I suppose I'm just sour that she went after me. I'm also a bit bitter that Russav has done nothing to dissuade her of her illusions, but I can do little about that. His life is his own, even if it should not be at times.

If you have managed to guess that I am secretly hoping that my cousin does not marry into the Chamadis family, you are a better reader than I could hope for. Another thing you will likely have guessed at is that I immediately ran for cover in my alcove. The only other to use the annex was my beloved Mel, so it provided sufficient seclusion from power-hungry courtiers and otherwise occupied cousins (I did indeed spot him wandering about our dear assassin's rooms).

The ruminations upon Russav's love life would have to wait for another time, as, true to form, Mel waltzed through the curtain separating my favored writing desk from the rest of the library complex.

"Danric. What aren't you telling me?"

Demanding as ever, how I love that woman.

"About which subject? I'm afraid you have a lot to catch up on."

"All of them."

I was not surprised. In the slightest. This was Mel afterall. There was a reason why I loved this woman.

"Well, to begin with, this is not exactly my story. However, there has always been _something_ between my cousin and Arya. Unsurprisingly, when her cover was blown by Galdran, we all assumed she wouldn't be coming back. It was only a month ago that I realized she was indeed still alive, but the border patrols were necessary. I couldn't call her back, as she was captain of her unit."

I had to stop to catch my breath, and think. Just how could I explain this without a horrible reaction. I was not stupid, I'd never be able to hide this from her, but I could spin things. Political maneuvers that I hate using in day-to-day interactions, but this was necessary. Or so I will continue to tell myself.

"She brings news with her. The conversation we had, disjointed as it was, was code. Well, her lines anyway. I didn't say much. Didn't have to. She's been well trained."

"Danric. You're stalling."

"Right. Sorry. Unbecoming in one of my stature, but I am afraid my lady, that I am only human."

"Danric."

"There is at least one wing of Denlieffi mercenaries in Merindar colors waiting to cross the border. We don't know whose behind it yet. Most likely, they'll wait until after I'm crowned to start with their plans. Mostly an empty threat, but, it could pose serious danger."

"And how is a wing of armed men at the border an empty threat?"

"Worried for my safety?"

"You can't blame a woman for caring."

"Certainly not. It is an empty threat Mel, because whomever they have decided to support, judging from the remaining pool of the available Merindar family representatives, has less of a claim upon Remalna's throne than myself. Making the threat empty as few will support this new candidate."

"Do you think they're trying to place Fialma on the throne?"

Which was both a concern of mine and also highly unlikely as we had Fialma in custody. She would be dealt with accordingly in time, but for the moment she was under what I liked to refer to as house arrest. She was constantly in the company of at least four armed soldiers and was unable to leave Merindar house. Any business she had to attend to outside the premises had to be done by a Renselaeus runner.

"Possibly, but it is unlikely. She has little ambition. Compared to the rest of her family."

"Which does not exclude her as a threat."

"True, but she isn't exactly active. As you know."

I watched as a slow smile formed on Mel's face and couldn't help but return it. My court mask had long since crumbled in her presence and I have never been more happy for the absence of something that had saved my life on so many occasions. She still got stuck on my sarcasm at times, but she was slowly getting the hang of it.

"As long as you're alright Danric. Now, what was this about Savona's previous relationship? They seem rather close for not being together."

"I don't believe they ever actually ended anything, if I recall the day correctly, she was dragged in front of court, part of her cover exposed, and then sent off as a simple border guard."

As I told Mel this, my memory of that day came to me unbidden. Just a flickering image on the inside of my eyelids while I blinked. A fraction of a second, but an image so powerful that it stays with you for days. Galdran sat on his throne haughty as ever. The barely concealed look of abject terror in her eyes screamed from where she kneeled before him. A flash of color and she was gone. Russave only turned to Tamara, masking his hate and distress behind a flick of his bangs and a smirk. He'd shattered that day.

"That sounds rather tame of him."

"Well, he was still under the impression that she was a Renselaeus."

"So he couldn't actually kill her."

"Indeed. That fact alone saved both of my parents and myself more often than not. I am almost certain that it saved Russav as well."

I quickly shifted the conversation to lighter topics, choosing instead to ask Mel's opinion on the Guildsmith's petition. It was good to get her to practice and I really don't believe you should blame me if I simply wished to hear her talk. Not that I didn't value her insights, they were fantastic, however hearing her speak to me with no malice was something I do not ever expect to tire of.

It was with great sadness that I left my dear Mel at the entrance to the residence with a kiss. We both had a riding party to attend and would need to change. I bade her well and was on my way, passing a rather disheveled looking Russav on my way back to the royal wing.

_Everyone knows I'm in_

_Over my head, over my head_

_With eight seconds left in overtime_

_She's on your mind, she's on your mind_

_Let's rearrange_

_I wish you were a stranger I could disengage_

_Just say that we agree and then never change_

_Soften a bit until we all just get along_

_But that's disregard_

"Well, cousin, don't you look rather drab this evening."

"Danric, I hate you."

"Truly? Because I have come to find that the feeling is mutual."

Surprisingly, he didn't laugh. Perhaps I should have phrased that a bit better.

"Russav, what are you doing?"

"Currently or in other matters?"

"The more interesting of the two."

"I'm running away from my problems Danric. It won't work, but I just can't make myself go inform that terrible woman that I am absolutely through with her and never really had any true interest in her from the first."

"She wouldn't take that well."

I didn't envy my cousin. He had found two of the most formidable women I have ever had the pleasure (displeasure on the count of Tamara) of meeting. Both were formidable in their anger, sarcasm, and political skill. One just happened to have sharp swords to back her sharp tongue. And a rather large soft-spot for one overly gleeful, devious Duke.

Russav always had to do things the hard way. Then again, I wasn't much better.

"She won't. I'm afraid I might not live past the encounter. I'm tempted to make Rya tell her for me."

"So you're back to that, hmm, Sav?"

Their nicknames for each other were perhaps the most normal thing about their relationship. They certainly were the cutest aspect of it. The rest was both bizarre and terrifying. When a woman tells you that she will stab you and bathe in your blood, your first reaction should not be to continue the behavior that caused the comment. In Russav's case, his immediate response was "I do hope it won't be a quick death, at least if it is slow, I can watch."

"Don't you have a riding tunic to go change into, cousin? Can't have you showing up late and in an improper fashion, now can we? Wherever did my dear court decorating cousin get off to?"

I hate that man sometimes. He was, regrettably, correct.

I was only slightly late to Lady Trishe's riding party. Thankfully my cousin did not rib me for it. Oh the joy of small favors. As Bran was regaling us of his war riding ventures we noticed a small figure headed our way, armed and sprinting. The moment the figure began cartwheeling and hand-sprining its way toward us, we could all easily recall other moments of seeing that familiar figure performing such a strange training ritual.

She sprinted into our numbers, greeting everyone politely, bowing when necessary. Trishe was one of the last to approach the soldier, going with Lady Renne to welcome her.

"Lady Arya, it is good to have you back. Would you care to join us?"

"I would love to, but I am afraid I must decline. The fact that I was stabbed clear through the stomach has me thinking that I'm a bit out of practice. Before a certain idiot Marquis gets himself killed, I ought to start training again."

There were slight chuckles at my expense. I wasn't unused to it. Both of my 'cousins' had a habit of using me as an excuse for erratic behavior. Thus after politely declining the offer to join us, she turned to Mel who was standing near her brother and Nee.

"Lady Meliara, should you ever desire to learn how to disarm my cousin and knock him flat on his back, feel free to drop by the training facilities before fencing. I have a few tricks I think you might like to learn."

"I- thank you."

And with a smile she turned and vaulted over a horse before resuming her run. So typical. Between Russav's flair for dramatics and flamboyance and her flippant nature, they would certainly make an interesting pair.

Mel turned to me, questions flaring in her eyes. I just nodded, not quite sure what to say. By now Russav had sauntered over and approached Mel. I really would come to regret asking him to flirt with her. Now that'd he'd started, he honestly couldn't give it up. If he did, they'd all start asking questions. I dearly regret my idiocy. You would think I'd learn not to underestimate that girl, but alas, I have not. I likely never would. But life, could you blame me?

I mean yes, we met under horrible circumstances and she had constantly proven to be stronger than your average court lady, but she was still someone who I felt compelled to protect. Because I loved her.

Russav blatantly laughed at me when he saw my face. He knew what I'd been thinking, and being the devious child he was, he just had to out me. Granted, he covered it well.

"Lady Meliara, you never cease to amaze. You have somehow gotten an invitation men would die for. The ability to train with that woman-" He let himself trail off, as he had little more to say and even likely wouldn't be able to finish the sentence without being close to giving himself away. _Russav, you dream of that ability for entirely different reasons than most_.

"She is that well-known?"

"I'd say she's famous for her skill, but I believe the term 'infamous' would fit her a bit better. And she is the only one who can consistently put Danric to the test. Something I would like to learn. Perhaps I'll join you."

"You'd have to sneak yourself in, and Russav, for that, you'd have to be dead. She could sight you anywhere."

"I wasn't saying that she'd be able to see me, cousin."

You have no idea how tempted I was to both call him a stalker and inform him that wether he was seen or not, his presence could easily be felt. Russav was like a storm in the way he approached a room. Sometimes calm, often troublesome, but only dangerous in extremes. Unlike a lightening storm, Russav was a danger not to your life, but to your sanity. After all, just look at me.

Thankfully, Mel laughed at him. Us, really, but mostly at Russav. I'm not exactly comic material.

When she asked me later that night wether or not she should meet with the assassin, I could only grin.

"Clearly she wants you to be able to protect yourself."

"But why?"

"Mel, everyone who has even heard of your name knows that you will rush into battle the next time something happens, and she knows what's on the horizon. She wants to be sure that should you follow me, you won't get hurt too badly. If these mercenaries managed to land that bad of a hit on her, they're skilled men."

The next morning, the two women could be found, armed and facing against one another a full candle before any others, in the practice room.

Russav could be found drowning his sorrows in his rooms, which was where I found him, drinking more coffee than was likely safe.

"Hitting the cups this early Russav? This is truly a scandal."

"Join me."

He didn't say anything for several full moments. When he raised his eyes to meet mine, I was thrown back. He looked the same way he had when he'd stared at me over a shot of intolerably hard liquor the night we got news of Rya's assignment.

"Tamara's going to kill me."

"Russav, you're leaving her for an assassin. I don't think you have much to worry about."

"This isn't like you, Danric."

And I knew it. I was too happy, honestly. So very unlike me, but I was beside myself with joy that he was fully committed to taking that woman off the battlefield. I suppose some protective part of me had sworn years ago that I would keep her from as much harm as possible, and I'd failed. I just needed to keep her safe before she got herself killed. Likely in defense of myself or Russav. With that in mind, a song she had often sung while training with me flitted its way through my mind.

_We're more than carbon and chemicals_

_We are the image of the invisible_

_Free will is ours and we can't let go_

_We are the image of the invisible_

_We can't allow this, the quiet cull_

_We are the image of the invisible_

_So we sing out this, our canticle_

_We are the image of the invisible_

There was something about the almost chant-like tune that had me both hopeful and doomed. There would be no great end to this.

"I suppose I'm just relieved. Much as I may have approved of your bizarre courtship with Lady Chamadis, it is a pleasure to hear otherwise. I had always had my reservations about that woman, but this ought not be about me. What of you cousin?"

"What do you want me to say, Danric? That I was an idiot? I was- am. Either way it doesn't change the fact that this kind of an upset at such a critical period will spell untimely doom to us all. And you know as well as I do, any hope of keeping Rya off the field is going to lead to nothing. She won't let us fight without her there to protect us. That woman just doesn't see reason."

"Oh Russav. It is sometimes a wonder how you have survived this long."

He finished the conversation with an unenthused 'very funny, Danric' before showing himself out of his own rooms. I watched him stalk across the gardens toward the training rooms and rose to follow him. There was no telling what kind of horrors he would unleash upon us all with his meddling. And no telling wether we'd all survive this insurrection of the Merindars.

Doubtless, we wouldn't.

_Raise up the banner, bend back your bows_

_Remove the cancer, take back your souls_


	3. Chapter 3

Name: Sweet Talk 101

Author: Kirrae

Rating: Teen

Pairing: RxOC, MxV, BxN

Summary: A certain assassin's return to court causes a few ripples in the relatively new peace of Remalna's politics.

Disclaimer: I own only the words and any original characters that appear in this work. The characters, settings, and main plot derive from the work of Sherwood Smith. The song lyrics belong to Cute is What We Aim For, All That Remains, The Fray, Oingo Boingo, and Goldfinger.

* * *

Chapter Three - Home Again, Superman

_Where is she going - ooh, she looks like she's lost_

_Won't someone help her - somebody giver her a hand_

_She's got such sweet eyes - look like they've seen too much_

_Knew someone like her - nobody helped, but she's_

_Home again... home again... home again_

There was a ball that night. He was expected to attend, expected to flirt shamelessly with almost every woman there who was both unmarried and under the age of thirty. He was also expected to dance with Tamara, fight with her, and leave alone.

Russav never liked to disappoint, but at times, it was worse to live up to expectations.

He was currently sitting in the gardens, along a rickety old bench that had seen many better days, in the shade of an old willow tree by a pond. He hadn't changed out of his court clothing, and looked both odd and uncomfortable, or so he surmised from the looks he'd seen on many of the serving girl's faces as they raced through the gardens between wings of the palace.

He was waiting. For what, or whom, he refused to specify even to himself. He knew, obviously, but denied such knowledge. Things like this were at times better left unknown, unthought, unsaid. But when the minutes began to tick by, he started to worry. Maybe, maybe he had missed her. Some form of cosmic statement about the state of their relationship. Karma. Or just a miscalculation.

It was at the precise moment that his paranoia began to escalate to the point where he was thinking that she hadn't actually returned at all and he was clearly an old man in an asylum somewhere in the country, that he heard her voice amble down the path toward him.

"_Where are you going - to see a crazy old man. What will he tell you - he'll tell me where I'm going. What will you do then - I might just quit my job. What will you do then - I'm gonna find my way home again._"

He turned to see her, head tilted to the sky and distant tree line, clearly lost in thought. A rare, completely unguarded moment. Russav was shocked. He hadn't thought he'd see that look on her face again. After everything, even he was wary about wandering so carelessly. And the flirtatious Duke of Savona had much less to fear.

"_Home again."_

Closer still she came, as if she hadn't seen him, but she had. He knew she had, as her singing became clearer, louder, as if she had something to say to him. She had done this before, it was an established pattern. The comfort that came from the simple act of her singing for him, which in truth wasn't as simple as it seemed, astounded him. She astounded him.

"_Home again."_

And she was sitting next to him, a smile on her lips, her shoulder brushing against his, the sheath of her sword propped awkwardly against the seat of the bench and his leg, their knees a breath from one another. She was too close, and, predictably, her smile turned into a smirk of devious, devilish proportions as she sang through the chorus of the song and into the next verse. Clearly, this was meant for him. Which was just lovely.

"_Where is he going - why does he walk that way. Sticking his chest out - what is he trying to say. He's got charisma - but when he's all alone, he curls up in a ball - and wishes that he was home again, home again, home again."_

She hummed a few bars of the song to keep place, then slid away an inch, barely noticeable, but the loss of heat against his arm and side was far too obvious for him. He wanted it back, shamelessly, selfishly, always.

"_Where are we going - why do we feel so small, alone and helpless - in this big crazy world. Looking for something - that's so hard to describe, but just like children - going along for the ride again._"

She then cut herself off, turned to him with questions in her brow but not a word from her lips. Accusations flew from her fingertips as they drummed against the wood slats of the seat back, apologies hung by her feet, but nothing crossed the distance. The mere three inches from her shoulder to his, the ocean between their thoughts. He could see it, and feel it, but he couldn't mend it.

"It's been a while. A long while, since we've been able to just sit here. Me singing some silly song I picked up from some village children or some small group of minstrels, you just watching me. It's awkward now. I don't like it."

He looked to the side and nodded. If he continued to look at her, he'd do something stupid. Kiss her again. Put his arm around her shoulders and pull her to him. Tell her he never meant any of the words he'd said to any other woman. But none of those actions would help him. All he could do, the only thing he could do to save them was to sit on that bench until she left, silent, still, and smiling, because even when her lips pulled themselves into the motion, nothing reached her eyes. No laughter, no hate, nothing but placid violet.

"'Sav, when did we become so awkward?"

"Apparently, some time between yesterday and this morning."

"Russ. I'm serious."

"Probably the moment I thought I lost you and then realized that I never truly had you."

"Sav-"

He wouldn't let her finish. He couldn't let her finish. He didn't know what he'd expected, but _this_? It was one of those moments where everything should go fine, where you want it to go as it should, but you just can't help yourself from ruining it. From taking all of the anger, hurt, and frustration that you have and making sure that those facing you experience it tenfold. Because you can. Because your sadistic streak decided to show itself and how dare they do this to you? So it had been years and things hadn't gone well, but that doesn't mean that things can just go back. That you can just forget about everything they ever did to you. Russav often fell victim to this trap. See every interaction between Lady Tamara and himself as evidence.

Looking at the woman sitting next to him, all he could think was that: sure, he loved her, despite everything, and he'd always known she wasn't what she seemed, and gods was she beautiful, but he just couldn't forgive-

Forgive what?

"I'm sorry, don't know what came over me. I must be feeling ill."

"Russav, I never betrayed you. You know that. What were you thinking?"

He could only sigh. _I'm a fucking idiot, thats what_.

"Friends?"

"My lady, we have never been anything less. On the other hand, we have certainly been much more, now haven't we?"

"Most certainly. Now, there's a song that reminded me of you. Heard it on one of our campaigns near Sartor. It's Marloven in origin though, I think."

They sat for hours in that secluded bench, both looking extremely out of place and certainly mismatched. Predictably, neither cared to much. They weren't bothered by apperances, as they knew few others used that particular section of the gardens except the servants who would certainly gossip only among each other. And what was there to gossip about? Certainly it wasn't so surprising that a woman thought dead returned half-conscious and bleeding only to land in the arms of the man she left, who was, regrettably tied to another woman at the time, but courtships were bound to change. Especially the political ones.

Everything was standard issue, all things considered. Well, except for the threat of physical violence. That was a bit new, but came with the territory. What more could Russav expect from a trained assassin.

She was pretty calm. Not all twitchy and paranoid. She had her moments, and she certainly didn't trust easily, but it wasn't as if you could easily tell that she worked in the business of espionage. Russav wasn't an expert, by any means, but he did know what it was like to believe that everyone was against you, Galdran had seen to that being a simple part of living, and the girl didn't show it much. Just a slight tenseness in her shoulders and the content of her speech: personal, but revealing little other than life-philosophies and observations. Although this showed some amount of trust, everything was said with an air of absolute distrust and uncaring. Oh, she was just lovely when you got down to her main personality traits wasn't she?

"Russav!"

"Hmm?"

"You aren't even paying attention. Just what has gotten your attention so thoroughly?"

"Upset that it might not be you that has me so ensnared, my lady?"

"Hardly."

"Well, if you must know," the next words that would come out of his mouth would ruin everything. He knew that even as he purposely let the words fall from his lips. "I was just thinking of Lady Tamara, she never ceases to amaze."

"Yes, for one such as you, her machinations must be an unsolvable mystery."

"And for one such as you, nothing human could ever hold your interest for long, could it?"

"Only you."

She spoke into the wind, voice carrying far off, away from him into the shadows.

"What?"

"Nothing, just an old memory."

"Thinking about the old days?"

"Yeah. Things were so much brighter then, even though I think it was all in grayscale. It's as if life is dulled by its own vibrancy lately."

"'Rya?"

"I'm not making sense, am I?"

"No, it's just, you aren't usually so poetic about it. You certainly aren't immune to bizarre thoughts or anything. They're kind of a staple of your personality, but this is a bit different than usual. Kind of like that night, huh?"

The night Russav referred to was one he'd recalled over a thousand times to keep himself company when the biting cold got too much, or the stars seemed just too bright at night. When even wine wouldn't warm his bones or obliterate his thoughts by dulling his senses. He remembered the time she came to them, her first ball at Athanarel. Some political thing, he remembered few of the details, just flashes of green and a beautiful girl sitting alone in the gardens. On this bench by the pond. Singing to no one and everyone at once. He barely even knew her name then, but he remembered being pulled to the song.

When he returned to his bed that night, he lay on his back, unable to tame swirling thoughts and calm his nerves. He couldn't help but recall her eyes and the waves of her hair as her bangs arced across her brow and covered a rather sizable portion of her right eye. The way she moved, like a trained dancer, with precision and grace he'd never seen. Just twelve years old and he had already become a slave to women.

She would leave him five years later, to the date. A week from her return would mark the eighth.

She still managed to captivate him, sometimes, but that dancer grace had left her in some form, it could still shine through, but many of her movements had become more cock-sure and segmented. The movements of one accustomed to wearing heavy armor and wading through corpses. Her actions were jerkier, more angular than soft and sweeping, but her balance was impeccable and her motions still had the fluidity of water. Perhaps it was age and old wounds.

"I sometimes wish- but it's hopeless. I am where I am because I was who I was, if I were to change that, then I would no longer be myself. I don't know what it is, but I just want to destroy it all. Nihilism should never be something you _turn_ to, however, I can't stop myself. It'd all be so much easier."

"Who'd you loose out there?"

"A few damn good soldiers and a lot of good friends. They didn't- no one deserves war, and I'll be damned if I don't stop this. I know Danric's gonna try to keep me out of it, but I swore, dammit. I will avenge each of them."

"I know I can't stop you, but 'Rya-"

"Don't 'Sav."

He watched her turn her head, seemingly to gaze at the surrounding fauna, but it was likely to hide the look on her face, or even prevent herself from looking at him. As if his very presence could kill her.

"_So here I am __doing everything I can, holding on to what I am, pretending I'm a superman. I'm trying to keep the ground on my feet, it seems the world's falling down around me. The nights are all long, I'm singing this song to try and make the answers more than maybe._"

"That one's new."

"Yeah. It fits. Upbeat, but somewhat depressing."

"You, upbeat?"

"Don't mock me Russav, you'll live to regret it."

"Likely at that tournament tomorrow regardless."

"Don't tempt me. I might just knock you off that pedestal of yours. Destroy your whole fan base. It'd save me a lot of trouble at least. Not that you care all too much, you insensitive prick."

"You wound me.

Silence reigned for a few long moments before she began tapping her foot to a quick rhythm.

"_And I'm so confused __about what to do. Sometimes I want to throw it all away. So here I am, growing older all the time, looking older all the time, feeling younger in my mind._"

A pause.

"You know, this could all be simplified, if either of us would simply speak our minds. Then you and I would be out of this dreadful situation."

"Yes, but one of us would have to take that risk first, admit to being open to wounds and scorn. You and I are both cowards when it comes to our hearts, are we not?"

"We always have been."

"Indeed."

A long, profound silence stretched between them. Or what seemed to be a profound silence. Perhaps it was simply the knowledge, the dread, that one of them would have to risk everything, and even though they _knew_ the outcome, neither could force themselves to do it.

"I do believe that it is my turn to take a chance, is it not? I am, after all, simply hanging."

"So you do. Very well then, I'm listening."

"I'm dreadful at this, must I really continue? Oh, you're going to make me do this any way you have to, aren't you? I should have known. Well, my lady, it seems that what transpired between us all those years ago was not the folly of youth, rather that describes my actions from that point to this, and indeed may continue to describe my actions until I tell one Lady Chamadis that whatever she believes stood between us was nothing but a distraction, an sham, something to keep my mind busy and away from depressing matters. To keep me as jovial as my cousin needs me to be. He is far too melancholy for someone who desires to be king. Though I do speak ill of him, as he does not desire to be king, but rather has had it thrust upon him like- like a-"

"'Sav, shut up."

And she put all of his idiotic fears to rest by pressing their lips together. She on her toes, stretched, and he pulled down by the collar of his jacket by fisted, gloved hands. Tiny hands, but dangerous. What a pair they must have made, a soldier and a fop, looking all the world like their reputations would have them - the demanding, calculating murderess and the licentious, dim-witted decoration. If only things were that simple. If only he was most worried about getting the woman into his bed rather than keeping her in his heart and in his arms. It was the last one that was the true killer, after all.

Because he loved her, she'd always be with him. His memories of her, his thoughts of her, his comparison of every woman he saw and spoke with to those fond memories. Getting her to stay safe, within the palace grounds, or even within the borders of Remalna, was difficult. She was honor bound. Not that any of that truly mattered to Russav, but if it mattered to her, by extension, it mattered to him. For _she_ mattered.

He was hopelessly lost. There would be no redemption from this point on, and for that, he was glad. Better to be a lovesick fool than a love-scorned idiot. Either way, it was a blow to his intelligence, but he had suffered worse. Far worse from worse people. For as long as he could, he would cling to her coattails, like a child, hoping to keep her from walking away. To keep her with him, there was no sacrifice he would not make. The question was wether or not she would let him. The answer was a resounding 'no.'

* * *

I'd like to ask that you review, if only to tell me that you regret wasting your time on this fic, because any kind of feedback is welcome. Even if it isn't very constructive, though I'd much rather have constructive criticism.

Regardless, please, let me know what you think.

-Kirrae


End file.
